


All The King's Men

by spiffycups



Category: Baahubali (Movies)
Genre: Dark, F/F, F/M, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-03-11 19:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 17,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiffycups/pseuds/spiffycups
Summary: Backstory in Canon Universe. Amarendra's parents-Era.





	1. We start here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fiera94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiera94/gifts).



The moon shone bright, waxing toward the pournami. Two women were heaving and gasping, pushing infants into the world from the comfort of the womb.

In the palace, Her Royal Highness Sembiyan Mahadevi held the hands of her trusted handmaidens as the physicians encouraged her. Letting out a primal scream, she thrashed back on the bed, welcoming Vikramadeva. He would rule Mahishmathi, he would marry Mekhala of Sevvaranadu, they would beget Amarendra Baahubali, who would marry Devasena of Kuntala, and history would unfold in joy, wrath and vengeance in mind-boggling proportions.

For now, the boy was kissed and embraced, wiped with clean fabrics and wrapped in silk, his placenta stored in a copper vessel and sealed away. His little hand was dipped in blue ink and imprinted on the notices and diplomatic letters announcing the birth of His Royal Highness Vikramadeva Baahubali, pride of his father His Royal Highness Uttamadeva, first-born of the Mahishmathi Kingdom, the boy to unite his father’s Mahishmathi and his mother’s Sevvaranadu, the beloved jewel of the joyous people.

 

In a village fifteen leagues away from the palace, the queen’s youngest courtesan Kamala panted and cried, palms tightening into fists. The midwife Janaki stroked her back, whispering pity and mercy on her frail form. The child was born whimpering in the quiet night, hushed by the hand of his mother before his cries attracted any prowling predators.

Janaki waited until Kamala breathed normally. She noted the dispassionate look in her eyes and asked politely if they would prefer to wait in her house until the father arrived. The invitation was declined curtly, and Kamala asked if there was instead any temple where the child could be placed.

Janaki wrapped up the child in a swathe of cotton saris, braced the bundle against her chest and asked if he had a name. Kamala turned away in shame, tears beginning to flow. Janaki nodded in pity- courtesans were not new to bastards. Kamala was young, this would be her first child, but most likely not her last.

Kamala watched the woman walk away with her son until they were a speck of colour in the dark night, before beginning the slow walk back to her quarters.

Kamala, Sembiyan Mahadevi and Uttamadeva did not know it, but although Vikramadeva was the prince of Mahishmathi, and the heir, he was not the first-born of King Uttamadeva.


	2. Chapter 2

Janaki arose before the rooster and rapped on the door of the blacksmith. The man’s wife opened the door, yawning, and let her in. It was custom to always welcome the midwife, the monk and the mendicant and pay the hour of their knocking no heed. The blacksmith hurried in after his wife, tying together his dhoti hastily and bowing to Janaki.

“How is your son?” she enquired politely, settling down with the baby in her lap.

“Strong as a bull” he nodded his thanks, eyeing the sleeping child. They were in a lifetime of debt to the woman for safely giving them their baby boy. It had not been easy.

“Good. I have an infant with me that needs a shelter. Will you raise him?” she asked. Janaki was known for her measured words, never using diplomacy when brute facts could do the job.

“Not at the moment Amma, pardon. We have little money, and another child- especially an infant- will be too much strain on us.” The lady answered in a minute, steady voice tinged with wistfulness as her eyes trailed jealously over the child's face.

“What do I do with the boy?” Janaki mused.

The couple thought for a long time. They debated the options, inviting Janaki into the decision. It was decided at last that they would raise the boy for six years, and then he would pay for his schooling by working the fields and yards, like all the other poor children.

After the morning meal, the man and his wife received the boy. “Does he have a name?” she asked.

Janaki shook his head. “A clean slate, a boy of unknown parentage.” Janaki would never betray anyone's secrets, and she would never abandon any child born of a secret. Her integrity was unquestionable. They understood the code for what it was- the father was most likely a drunkard and the baby an alcoholic accident to a woman incapable of raising him. There was no other reason for abandoning a boy child.

“His mother?” she prompted.

“I don’t know her.” Janaki lied with a straight face. “She sought refuge in my care, gave the child and returned to her world.” Handing over the waking child, Janaki blessed him twice. "For your safety- a blessing, and for your long life- a blessing."

“His name will be Balaraman” declared the happy father, already not looking at Janaki.

 

\--------

 

 

Sembiyan Devi caught Vikramadeva in her hands and pulled him in. “You must eat, my prince! Good boys do not worry their mothers!” The boy fought to run free, wriggling in her arms and giggling.

“Prince Vikrama!” boomed his father’s voice. He quieted down, looking up at the mountainous man with wide eyes. “Why do you not eat?”

“I’m not hungry Father!” he squirmed once more.

“Wimpy bookworms do not get hungry. Warriors eat their weight in meat and rice. Which one is our prince?” Uttamadeva peered down at the child.

“The prince is the devil that harasses his mother but will listen to his father!” injected Sembiyan Devi, tickling the boy into peals of laughter. As he opened his mouth to guffaw, she stuffed another morsel of rice into his open mouth.

 

\--------

 

“Ey Balarama! Share your food with us!” called the other boys. He stood up reluctantly, dragging his feet to them. Sitting beside them, he opened the banana leaves as they peered into his parcel.

“What is this! Are you eating puffed rice with onions? Don’t you have anything better to eat?” joked one of the boys.

Balaraman blushed furiously, muttering “my mother gave me this, so I will eat it.”

Another boy picked up a morsel and sniffed it. “Hmmm, smells like the goat slept on it too!” The band of boys roared in laughter, as Balaraman fought to control his tears.

“It’s good to eat simple food!” he argued.

“Hey, watch your tone! We’re older than you, and more powerful. You’re only an orphan, do you really think you can raise your voice at us?” The leader of the group shoved him.

Falling on the sand, he scrambled to sit up. “I’m not an orphan!” he shouted in shock.

“Yes you are! An orphan and a bastard! I know, I heard all the women talking about you in the market. We know all about you, you penniless clown!”

Balaraman raced back to his mother, food forgotten.

 

\-----


	3. Chapter 3

Three years later, he stood with his hands nervously clasped, head held high. “Sir, I would like to join the house of iron.” Balaraman requested. The man who had raised him was never addressed as father after the truth came out. The lady of the house was Amma, always in a formal voice and with as much respect as a twelve-year old could manage to cram into a word.

“It is not easy, Balarama. But I think you already know that, don’t you?” he asked, putting down his accounting books.

“Yes, I have been observing the boys at practice, their strength and skills and hard work. It suits me as well.”

“What about your studies?” he asked worriedly.

“The schools will push out the orphans by the time we are fourteen, and no tutor will accept to teach a bastard.” Balaraman remarked wryly.

He sighed, running his hand over his face. “Very well. You will keep reading so that you do not forget your letters, and you will learn sums to keep your brain sharp. If you promise to do this, you have our permission to join the quarry.”

With a firm nod and a short bow, he accepted the terms.

Balaraman had no illusions about the back-breaking work of carving stones in the quarry. The harsh sun beat down on their broken backs as they swung at the impassive mountains all day. The only advantage to joining them was that the cream of the young crop could apprentice with the ironsmiths, and strong and smart lads at the ironsmiths stood a chance at the Mahishmathi army.

Balaraman was not yet thirteen years old, but he was aware of how alone he was in the world that he was determined to go forth as far and as high as he could, before he got stopped.

 

\-----------

 

Prince Vikramadeva was the delight of his tutors and the bane of his fellow students. They regularly bemoaned his sharp mind which put them in very bad light in comparison, but it was only sportively bandied about- Vikrama was so charismatic everyone fell in line with his wishes, it was impossible to bully such a pure heart. His bulking muscles and towering frame helped things along.

“Vikrama will you please leave us at least four girls to look at?” whined his friends.

“Boys, I’m not forming a harem. You are free to look at all the girls you want!”

“But none of them looks back at us! You’re the single point of focus for them!”

“Ah well, I’ve only got eyes for my studies and my pets, who has the time to focus on girls?” he smiled.

“Give it a few years, our Vikrama will chase more skirts than even Lord Krishna!” laughed his friends. Vikrama blushed charmingly and bit into his fruit. Their teacher passed by at that moment and joined in.

“The prince is a rather good catch, not to mention he has the looks to equal the Lord himself.” Smiled the scholar.

Vikramadeva bowed to his guru and shook his head with a saucy grin. “My muscles aren’t big enough yet, I would need to lift a mountain of iron before I can boast about looks.”

“Then go to the quarry and work with the boys there. You can pose as the cousin of any of your friends, visiting from abroad, and learn a skill while you’re out there growing muscles for your future queen.” He patted Vikrama’s head kindly and left.

 

\-----------


	4. Chapter 4

The first he saw of the boy was when he came careening into him. “Hey!” was all Balaraman could get out before they collapsed in a heap, thighs and elbows smarting on the boulders’ rough edges. The boys fought to stand up, falling over themselves again. It was a good minute before they extricated themselves from the pile and sorted out their limbs, eyeing each other warily. Balaraman scowled first.

“What’d you do that for? Push over all my stones? Now who’s going to pick them all up again?” He stooped, scooping up the rocks into the pan, muttering curses under his breath.

Vikrama had never been spoken to in such a fashion in his life. He stood mute, watching the larger boy shovel and scoop the rocks.

“Donkey, won’t you even help?” yelled Balaraman, startling Vikrama into action. He hurriedly gathered a few from the ground and piled them onto Balaraman’s pan who scowled and brushed past him.

 

Vikramadeva found his cover easily accepted, and had a fulfilling time hauling rocks and breaking boulders, and sharing meals with the rest of the crew. He found his eyes trailing to the boy he had bumped into that morning. He asked around, and found out about the lad. At fourteen, Balaraman was the most experienced at irons and weaponry. Being a prodigy, he had been taken to the ironsmiths and the armoury for gross work and it was an open secret that he would be the first to be called to the army in a year.

Vikrama would have expected him to be playful and cheery, as it seemed almost everyone was proud of and fond of him, but Balaraman had a serious expression at all times, and next to no friends. His foster brother Mandhogan was the one boy he let sit next to him, and they did not speak much. Vikrama filed this away to think about later, and resumed his conversation with the others.

They worked together for many days, hitting side by side from morning to evening with only a few grunts and nods to pass for conversation, and Vikrama slowly found himself talking to the boy. Balarama would not reply, but he was a good listener, nodding along and breaking his stoic demeanour only for the rare guffaw at some of the funnier anecdotes.

It was easy for Vikrama to pretend to be valet to the prince of the neighbouring kingdom, and modify all his tales to that prince and his valet. One day as they sat under the banyan tree, Balaraman smiling indulgently at Vikrama’s story, the substituted pronouns slipped and Vikrama accidentally spoke of himself as a Prince. Balaraman coughed discreetly and looked away, smirking into the distance. Vikrama stumbled and stuttered, revising the line, but the damage had been done.

“Look, you won’t tell anyone will you?” he asked nervously, picking at his nails. Balaraman shook his head, smirk staying put on his face.

“Unless you want me to bow to you.” He raised his eyebrows at Vikrama.

“No, god no! This is the most fun I’ve had in years! Being bowed to is always so irksome, and the titles oh no, I can’t get introduced in a room without having to hear a litany to my ancestors-“ he clamped his mouth shut, looking abashed. “Sorry, I know you have an adopted family, I don’t mean to offend you with my tales of lineage and all that…”

Balaraman sighed. “It’s – look I won’t say it’s ideal, but I’ve made my peace with it. You don’t have to dance on your toes around me.” He shrugged his shoulders, wolfing down his lunch. “I’m just Balaraman, and my family is whoever seeks my company.”

“Yes, of course, that is proper, and, and uh- good.” Vikrama resumed his tale, filling the awkward silence with some friendly harmless chatter.

 


	5. Chapter 5

As time went on, during his short apprenticeship, Vikrama became Balaraman’s biggest fan, trailing him everywhere with stars in his eyes. He brought more food to share with Balaraman, trying to impress him with his strength by covertly training at night. Balaraman regarded him as an old dog might look upon a kitten, amused and affectionate in a detached sort of way. He was wary of him, and spoke rarely, lest he offend the future king.

The two lads had been raised on the tales of the Mahabharata and Ramayana, so they were very careful to keep their distance from each other, lest they end up like Karna and Duryodhana. They each thought the other was Karna, and being intensely superstitious, avoided all display of emotion around each other.

As the season drew to an end Vikrama was due to return to the palace while Balaraman was practicing for the army. The boys trained together, knowledge growing exponentially and symbiotically, their bond becoming deeper despite their initial reluctance to fall into the trope.

On their last day at the quarry, Vikrama asked if he might visit Balaraman‘s home. Balaraman stammered and blushed, not wanting to offend his prince yet unwilling to open his familial relationships to scrutiny.

Vikrama did not let up, gazing longingly at his friend, until Balaraman nodded hesitantly. “On the condition that you do not bring gifts, Vikrama. I will not stretch out my palms for anything at all, my pride binds my nature.” He remarked sternly.

“Gifts? I wouldn’t dream of it!” chuckled Vikrama.

“Consider that your lavish gifts belie your cover of a merchant’s cousin from the borders.” He warned.

“Ah, well, merchants are wealthy and we like to keep our friends comfortable” said Vikrama with a wink.

Balaraman shook his head resignedly and changed into his day clothes.

 

\-----------

 

The following morning, Balaraman found he could not sleep, and under the cover of darkness he admitted to himself that he felt a fondness for his friend, being willing to trust him and obey him.

Pondering the future, where Vikrama would be king, and he would serve in the army (for he was beyond par, his name and fame had traveled to even the chief strategist’s chambers, he was sure of being enlisted), Balaraman found with no small measure of surprise that he was completely willing to risk his life obeying Vikrama’s orders.

Between the two of them there was no doubt who was the better strategist, the stronger man and the natural leader, but Balaraman had accepted long ago that the circumstances of his birth would always limit his achievements, and he would try to maximize the good that he could effect in his life, for Mahishmathi and her people.

 

Freshly bathed and dressed in clean clothes, he paced the walkway connecting their home to the market road, from where Vikrama would come. His foster parents had also agreed to stay with him overnight so that they could meet his friend, and they were delighted that their son had at long last found a man worthy of being his friend. Balaraman did not make friends, he made allies and acquaintances; and his disapproval was a mark on the subject’s character permanently so they were very curious to see the type of boy their son respected and liked.

Contrary to expectations, Vikrama walked the pathway to their door. He had tied his horse to the trees nearby, and chose to present himself as simply as possible. He did not want to embarrass his friend with extravagant displays of wealth, so he had also dressed in commoner’s clothes borrowed from his friends’ wardrobes. The only mark of luxury on him was his silky hair gleaming in the morning sun, lending a hallow of gold to his smiling face.

Balaraman’s parents stood at the doorstep, waiting for the boy to bow to them. Vikrama halted in confusion, torn between deferring to respect and princely conduct. Breaking the imminent standoff, Balaraman strategically dropped the bucket of milk he was carrying from the cowshed, tripping over a rock and scraping his neck. Vikrama shot him a grateful glance as he wiped away the blood and pressed his towel to his friend’s bleeding throat. Balaraman turned away to hide his smile.

“This is a bad omen.” Muttering worriedly, his mother fetched a handful of salt to cleanse the evil eye. “Evil eye of the wolves, the leopards, the ghouls, the jealous men- begone their touch!”

“What about the jealous women?” asked Balaraman with a grin. “Don’t they envy us?”

Circling the boys with her fist clenched tight, she flung it far away out of sight and came back to take an aarthi of the lads before welcoming them into her home.

“Oh, now there’s a woman?” she asked him with a conspiratorial smile. Balaraman blushed a deep red, shaking his head frantically no. “No? Let’s ask your friend about her!”

Over rice balls, the couple interrogated Vikrama, driving the boy into making up stories. He could not cope with the pressure of adapting his royal life to that of a trader’s, so he settled on creating a fictional family and life. Balaraman shot him baleful glances from where he was trying to not choke. The prince used his charms to steer the conversation to Balaraman instead, inquiring into the life of the lad when he was a child. Their anecdotes fit perfectly into his ideas of his friend. Balaraman had been a quiet boy, facing a tough life with an even tougher attitude, with noble ideals and a solid heart of gold.

When the meal was over, the boys went to the cowshed where Balaraman housed the single cow he had bought with his quarry earnings of half a decade.

“Beautiful!” exclaimed Vikramadeva, patting her broad back.

Balaraman stroked her chin, smiling unreservedly at the loving creature. “Kamadhenu. Her name.” he explained.

“’ _Giver of everything_ ’! What has she given you then?” asked Vikrama.

“Everything!” Balaraman laughed. “She gave me a livelihood, she gave me company when I had no friends, she gave me milk to sell…” he paused to scoop some softened hay into her trough. “The first living being that I had for myself, sure as day, all rights vested. Can’t say that about people, I can’t.”

“You can say that about me, I’m your friend.” Tried Vikrama with a coy smile.

“No, my prince.” Balaraman sighed. “In under a year I will be serving under your command, and friendship will ruin the authority of a command. I don’t intend to let any emotions rule my duty.”

“Must you be so noble! All the time!” cried out Vikramadeva in exasperation. “You’re fifteen yet, race the bulls, climb our mountains, swim the seas, chase a girl, live life! Live life, Balarama!” he shouted.

“Easy enough to say when you’ve got an entire kingdom supporting your every footstep!” shouted back Balarama, annoyed beyond prudence. “Not all of us have a loving family, humungous heaps of gold and society’s respect! Penniless bastards like me have to work their way through life, I will never be as comfortable as you, Vikrama!” his shoulders slumped and he turned away, breathing heavily.

A tense moment later, he spoke to the wall. “Pardon me, prince. I spoke to you as a friend, I momentarily forgot who you were. This is why I think you should consider me your subject and not your friend. It… complicates matters.” Picking up his towel, he stalked off to the house, not looking back at Vikrama.

Vikramadeva pondered the exchange leaning against the wall of the shed. Stroking Kamadhenu absently, he voiced out his thoughts as the animal listened patiently, mooing at the appropriate parts.

 


	6. Chapter 6

It was nearing Autumn when Vikramadeva saw his friend again. He almost walked past him unnoticingly but there was a stance to his posture that rang a bell somewhere, and Vikrama lost all pretense of stoicism and leaped at the boy. 

"Rama! You're here!" he shouted into his neck where he was hugging the taller boy. "Look at you, it's been a millenium since I saw you! What's this moustache?" he stroked it curiously, face lighting up in excitement. Turning to his platoon of valets and ministers-in-training, he introduced them excitedly. "Meet Madhavan, Vaidhya, and Aagaman. Gentlemen, this is my best friend Balaraman." The boys bowed to each other.

"Now you may all return to your jobs, I am taking the day off to spend with him!" Vikrama grabbed his friend's elbow and turned, pulling him.  Balaraman dug his heels in, looking embarrassed and shy. "What's the matter!" cried Vikramadeva. "What do you - why are you here?" he stopped short, taking in his surroundings for the first time. They were in the guards' wings of the palace, and Balaraman was attired in the tough fabric of the soldiers' flanks, wearing their sigil on a chain around his neck. 

"You're a soldier!" shouted Vikramadeva in happiness, a smile breaking open his face. "My _mitran_ , a soldier!"

Balaraman coughed quietly. "I am honoured that my Prince recognises me." He was intently aware that the entire platoon was watching them, all other tasks stopped to register why their prince was making a big deal out of their newest foot soldier. He was also aware that this would poison the politics playing within the hierarchy and wished that Vikrama had not stopped at all. The fact was also apparently dawning on the prince, for he was slowly letting go of his hand and assuming a more serious posture. He communicated with his eyes that they would speak privately. 

"Ah, yes, Balarama. It was a good few months that I spent in the summer, learning with the boys. Has your brother joined the work too?" he asked, stuttering in his seriousness.

"No, Your Highness, Mandhogan is not yet finished with his tutoring, and his frame is better suited for a blacksmith- like his father." he finished with a polite smile. Vikrama watched him curiously, sighing that his friend would not recognise the family given to him by providence, and continued to refer to their father as a stranger.

"Very well. You may join us after sunset. Prepare to tell me tales of Ashokan, Vasanthan and Daamu, I miss our time together." Vikrama walked off, not stopping to provide a chance to Balaraman to bow to him.

 

\-------

The prince was a nightmare to all the elders. Sembiyan Devi's candor had been inherited in his speech in full, causing no little chaos as the prince spoke his mind. Thankfully his father's good sense had also been passed down so those thoughts were righteous and fair. His tutor's only wish was to see the prince learn to slow down. He felt that at the rate the boy was going, he would consume all the texts and master all the arts by the time he was twenty two, and then while away in boredom until it was time to take up the throne. Uttaman was strong and brave, and with Sembiyan Devi by his side would live to reach ninety unaided by medicine, leaving a good thirty or forty years before Vikrama needed to take up the entire leadership.

This was a fact that Vikraman knew too. The uncontainable energy that constantly thrummed through him, turned into a ceaseless river that coursed through their conversation, finding solace in Balaraman's eternal patience and reserved smile. "And that's how I knew, that our hammers wouldn't stand the assault! All because Mandhogan's father taught me that day!" he finished his story.

"And what about the steel welding it together? Did it help increase the strength?" inquired Balaraman curiously, picking idly at the threads of the cushions. "I know of one steel mix that makes it stronger, but I didn't try it enough times to guarantee it would always work."

The conversation flowed easily, flitting from topic to topic- Vikramadeva's anxieties about taking up ministerial roles, Balaraman's experiences in the royal guard, their nostalgia for the carefree times in the worksite- but Vikrama sensed that both of them were hiding their true feelings about some of their deepest thoughts. He found he could not tell Balaraman about his insecurities, about how he really felt about the fact that he was superior to him, and he felt his friend was also concealing his true complaints about his work but could not tell his own master about it. Sighing, he reached for another glass of toddy. They had settled in with the commoner's drink of choice, to ease them both back into the kind of life they had shared.

 

\------

 

Over the next few months, Vikrama began to lean heavily on Balaraman. Aagaman and Madhavan constantly griped about it, but he paid them no heed. Vikraman knew in his heart's deepest truths that he could never truly trust any of those who circled him, for they would be the first to plunge into his carcass. So he sought out the hermit Balaraman, sometimes talking about everything under the sun, and sometimes sitting in complete silence, watching the world go by. The thing Vikraman liked most about his friend was that in both those ways, Balaraman made him feel the same- calm, peaceful and strong.

One day as they sat watching the sunrise, Balaraman snorted and keeled over laughing. Vikraman stared in confusion. "Mitra, what happ-"

"I have a sister!" chuckled Balaraman, shaking his head.

Vikraman peered cautiously at the lanky lad, not advancing any comment.

"Mandhogan's parents had a second child. He told me yesterday. Old age has been kind to them."

'What old age! They are barely fifty yet!" Vikraman grinned. It hurt him a little to hear the way it was phrased. Balaraman had not referred to the girl as being born to his parents, but had claimed her his own sister. He supposed it made sense, for Balaraman still considered Mandhogan his brother, after sorts.

"Yes, little lass she is... i went down to town to see her last night. By the pale light of the oil lamps, swaddled in Amma's most fragrant sarees- she looks like how I imagine an angel would be, Vikrama." He was silent for a few minutes, a gentle smile rocking his stoic face. "I haven't raised any children, but I want to raise her, look after her, be a good brother to her. Be a man she would be proud of."

Vikrama wiped away the tear tracks on his cheeks softly. "You will be, Balarama. If I could have a brother half as good as you, I would sing his praises to the moon and the stars. She has the best anna."

Balaraman smiled- openly, honestly. "I feel responsible for her. I want to be a good man. Be someone she will look up to. I just-" he whispered, "I pray that she loves me. The child has my heart already, as though she were my first-born. If she loves me as her own brother, nothing would make me happier" he finished, with a trembling voice.

Vikramadeva looked around, they were alone. He stroked his friend's back soothingly. "She will. She will adore you." He let his hand rest on his friend's shoulder until his breathing calmed down. "What's her name?"

Balaraman turned to him, proud and happy. "Sivagami."


	7. Chapter 7

For the second time in 18 years Janaki found herself helping Kamala in labour. Her dark face was scrunched up as she panted and heaved, clutching on to Janaki's palms, crushing her fingers. Janaki smoothed down her hair and whispered words of encouragement, reflecting distractedly at the changes that Time had wrought on the younger woman.  
Kamala's barely-out-of- adolescence face had turned only a little older and her body was fortunately plumper, speaking odes to a life of luxury. Janaki could barely recognise the underfed wide-eyed trembling girl in this assured determined woman.  
Kamala was chanting her own set of prayers, only occasionally stopping for breath. The last few minutes were Janaki's time to work her magic. 

This time after they had wiped down the baby and wrapped her in cottons, Janaki let the other girl talk. She could see that there were words waiting to spill out. 

"At least I'm not as bad as the other women, am I?" Kamala was smiling, wiping her own face and neck. "Only once every two decades. I'm certainly lucky." As a courtesan of the court, such accidents were not uncommon and it was socially acceptable for her to birth her baby in the midwives quarters, a position in security that had not been available to her two decades ago when she had only just entered the palace.

 "Are you keeping this one?" Asked Janaki in a neutral tone. She still wasn't certain that the smile was not a facade of normalcy masking panic. 

"Oh no certainly not! Who would raise her- a battalion of rotating men?" Kamala threw her head back and chuckled. "The father certainly is busy enough."

"Do I know him? I can send him back to you." Offered Janaki. "I birthed all the children in our city, and their fathers. They owe me life debts." She smirked, only half joking. 

"No, akka." Kamala sighed, drawing a hand over her face. "You did not deliver her father." She begged Janaki with a look to understand. 

It hit the midwife like a landslide. Janaki was only forbidden from delivering royalty. Her own guru was the only one authorised to enter Queen's Chambers. After her guru passed, Janaki would be elevated to that position. From then on, she would touch no other children but those born within the queen's chambers, whether royal or not.  
She knew it was too late to conceal the look of shock on her face. Sitting down heavily Janaki breathing deeply and took a long hard look at Kamala. "How many other..." She whispered. 

Kamala stared back holding her gaze. The two women tensely evaluated the trustworthiness of the other and Kamala ultimately made up her mind. "Both of my children."

"How many siblings do they have?" Janaki knew it was very crudely put, but she had suddenly got the chance to find out how many step-uncles and step-aunts her future charges would have and she was not about to drop that chance on such a frivolous thing as courtesy.

Dropping her gaze, Kamala toyed with the frayed edges of the mattress sheets. "Tell me, Kamala. I need to know." Janaki pressed.

  
"Since the day I entered the palace, I have been His only concubine. He spends time with my companions but I am the only one He takes to bed." Looking at Janaki's disbelieving expression, she pressed on. "And I have talked to the oldest nurses and they assure me that He had only eyes for His queen until I came. Certainly I had my suspicions but they are vindictive vicious crones looking for every opportunity to tear into Him, so I believe it when they jealously tell me of his fidelity." She sighed, hating herself for showing her hand. Janaki averted her eyes, giving her a moment of privacy. The woman had just confessed in tone to loving the King, she needed all the privacy she could get.

  
"And Sembiyan Mahadevi?" Janaki whispered. she could not even bring herself to complete the question, but it was a question that needed to be asked.

  
Kamala laughed wryly. "A more faithful spouse than he. She deserves better than him for a husband."

Janaki tutted at that, unconsciously pressing the feet of her charge. "Do not speak of our ruler like that; He is a better man than others in His place."

"Yes! Much better! Which is why he fathers children and then abandons them like this!", snarled Kamala. Breathing heavily, she stood up, tying her bandages and her clothes tighter. Her face was twisted into a look of fury and loneliness. Janaki could not help comparing the young woman to a sparrow cornered by a wolf- a plaything, a mere amusement, no matter how much the wolf grinned at the prey.

   
Kamala eyes beginning to fill with tears, extended both palms to Janaki. "May the Goddess bless you and yours."

Janaki recoiled in horror. The blessing that a courtesan was supposed to give was "May the Goddess keep you as happy as she with her own husband." It pained her to hear the blessing of the prostitute being delivered from Kamala's angelic mouth. "Kamala!" She cried, stricken. 

Pointing at the sleeping infant in Janaki's arms, she said, "Sivagami." Kamala drew her saree over her shoulder. "I hope I can repay you one day for all that you've done for me, akka." She turned away before the tears started flowing.  
  


\-----------

 

Janaki thought it only fitting that the baby Sivagami be raised by the same family that raised her brother. Now that they were older, they would certainly appreciate the presence of a baby around the house, as would Mandhogan. As she trudged up the steps of their house a few days later, she sent out a mental prayer asking whatever Gods were left, to help Balaraman see his sister for who she truly was. 

 

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	8. Chapter 8

Sembiyan Mahadevi was no fool. She knew exactly who Kamala was, and what kind of smiles she gave her husband. She had warned him after the first child, and he had obeyed. The man was a weakling, a slave to his temptations and now there were two children of his milling about. He was a fool in addition to a king, and she knew that he had no idea that Vikramadeva had half-siblings.

Sembiyan Mahadevi would allow no other child of Uttamadeva's on the throne- it was promised to Vikramadeva. She had spent years slaving over the boy, training him, teaching him, and shaping him up. Mahishmathi was her home, Uttamadeva had married into her family. She was ruler and judge of all that happened in her home. 

Uttamadeva stepped into the bath, letting his feet sink into the warm currents as the servants rubbed out the knots in his back. Sighing, he closed his eyes and spent a lot of time thinking about nothing. It was his favourite thing to do. He had had a long day, and Kamala, his heart's favourite, was only just back to him after spending six months at her mother's. She looked significantly fatter, but he found he liked it. His wife was lean strength, like a leopard, with eyes and guts to match. Kamala was softer, sweeter, all milk and honey and acquiescing smiles. Rolling his neck, he slumped deeper into the water, letting it wash away his exhaustion. 

As he lay there, he heard the sounds of all the servants walking out, and understood that the queen had entered. Turning, he smiled at her. "Come, darling. Oh what a sight for tired eyes."

She was clad in fine silks that sashayed with her every step, anklets jingling and jimikkis swaying as she walked. "A pleasure to have my husband to myself. A rare pleasure of late, sadly", she remarked.

Uttamadeva felt a small jibe in her words, but brushed it off. Being king was busy business, he knew she knew that.  Pulling her down for a kiss, he nuzzled her cheek. "Who else would I need when I have you? Beautiful as a lily, sweet as honey...".

"Lotuses seem to be in bloom" she teased. He tensed up. Removing her hand from his shoulder, he held her at a distance and regarded her deeply. Sembiyan Mahadevi smirked with a glint of mischief in her knowing eyes. "What do you mean, Queen of Mahishmathi?" he asked her.

"I mean," she said, slipping out of her saree, "that Vikraman has been brought up to be King. We have treasured him as a pearl, and that pearl will rule the ocean one day. Lotuses are light and pretty, no doubt, but true depth of character lies at the bottom of the heart, like a pearl." Her voice turned serious. "Mahishmathi needs our son on the throne."

Uttamadeva measured his words. His wife was undoubtedly angry, but she was presently negotiating. They had promised each other decades ago, to always put Mahishmathi's future before their wishes. Now she was reminding him of his oath. Uttamadeva held his wife's eyes, a little ashamed for the jibes about lotuses and pearls, but also with tremendous respect. She had found her husband straying and had not killed the other women, as other queens before her. She continued to place the cause before the needs of her own heart.

He took a deep breath. "Vikrama will be king of Mahishmathi after me. Our son will be king, no other."

She smiled and took him in her arms. She hoped her gratitude was evident in her smile, because her ego was too massive to let her vocalise it. Dipping her dainty feet in the water, she smiled gently, and said, "Uttama, my love, I know it is difficult to tell you this. You must not think me any differently, but it is my sad duty to remind you- I belong to you, and you belong to me."

He sighed, hanging his head in shame.

"Now I know Kamala has nowhere else to go, what would a middle-aged courtesan do for a living, especially one that has been retired from the palace? So out of kindness she may stay. You remember, of course, my mother, your aunts, my grandmother, all the queens before me, they have slain the beguiling seductresses. I cannot do that, my morals do not permit it."

She looked up at him with wide eyes, as innocently as she had been when they were betrothed at age sixteen. "Uttama, remember, if you stray once more, I will slay _you_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick recap of the family tree:   
> Sembiyan Mahadevi + Uttamadeva : Vikramadeva.  
> Uttamadeva + Kamala : Balaraman and Sivagami.  
> Vikramadeva + Mekhala: Amarendra Baahuali, who will marry Devasena, then father Mahendra.  
> Sivagami + Bijjaladeva : Bhallaladeva.


	9. Chapter 9

Uttamadeva was a fool. He was kind, generous, patriotic, compassionate and fair, but he was not a smart man. Sembiyan had married him to seal the alliance between his Kopalanadu and her Mahishmathi. As the years had passed, she suspected that she might like him, maybe one day even love him. He was lovable enough, with his glittering eyes and warm hands and the smile that leveled everyone who looked at him, and she found herself thinking of him fondly enough. 

She knew he loved her. He loved her as the moon loves the river, something that he could influence partly, but mostly something that kept to itself and was beautiful to look at. She knew that if she deigned to love him, he would be the happiest man in Mahishmathi. That was what made her so angry whenever she thought about Kamala and their two children. 

It was partly rage, partly relief that she hadn't loved him enough to be hurt too much, but also partly regret that in the end her husband too had turned out like all the male populace of the nation. Disgusted, she paced the balcony, fists clenched and her voice screaming inside her head. True to Mahishmathian tradition, she had been raised to keep her cards glued to her chest, and now in the midst of heartbreak she realised she needed someone to confide in. Sembiyan Mahadevi tied up her saree into her waist and ran to the temple east to the palace. 

Her hair shaken out of its braid by the cool night breeze, her face flushed, bangles clanging against each other as she ran past the sleepy guards into the deserted and dim temple, Sembiyan Mahadevi panted as she reached the idol's door and sank down onto her knees, clutching onto the idols of the doormen for support. Her personal guards had chased after her and now stood awkwardly but alertly, awaiting orders a few feet behind her. Turning to the side, she commanded. "Ekantham!" The guards scuttered away, joining the men on duty at the temple itself.

The place buzzed with silence again, as she sat down properly this time, big eyes blinking up at the idol of the peaceful goddess Mayadevi, ever calm and unchanging. She got into the right mindspace in just a few minutes. Sembiyan Mahadevi called out to the guards to fetch water and flowers, and left it to the puzzled men to find flowers in the dead of the night. While waiting for them to return, she cried quickly and quietly, almost efficiently, and wiped the tear tracks away. 

She washed her face with the water they fetched, opened her hair out and loosened her saree into the style she used to wear when she was young and not heartbroken. In the comforting quietness of the stones, she opened her heart up, thinking about all the thoughts she did not want to think about in light of day, where others were watching her face, watching her hands and trying to pull the thoughts out of her.

She thought about all the times she had almost started to love Uttamadeva, all the times she had stopped herself right before loving him only to remind herself of her training, of the words of her teachers and parents, of the echoing mantra in her heart- "Jai Mahishmathi"- those two simple words that ruled her every motion, those two words for which she had given up on love, for which she refrained from killing her husband, the two words that represented the burden of seven hundred thousand people that depended on her to rule them fairly, to care for them as a mother would, the two words that sometimes did not let her sleep at night until she had helped them all in the best way that she could.

Sembiyan Mahadevi looked up at the goddess and wondered if She felt the same way sometimes.  "Isn't it crippling? To have to do so much and not have anything in return but the satisfaction of a job well done?" she asked out loud.

The whispered chatter of the guards quieted as they listened to their mad queen talk to stone. She sighed and called out to them, "Walk far away from the temple. I will ring the bell when I need you." She shook her head, for a queen of Mahishmathi had no privacy even when in the presence of her goddess.

"I certainly find it devastating." she continued, after the footsteps had died away. "I have no one loving me. Everyone fears me, but no one truly loves me for who I am." She picked up a flower and twirled it between her fingers. "They adore me, they respect me, but do they love me?" She crushed the flower, choking it until the pistil drooped out in defeat. "I wish I had a daughter, a friend- anyone not a boisterous boy or a cheating man. I wish I didn't have to worry about the future of Mahishmathi. All I have now is an heir to raise, a cheating husband and a daughter-in-law that will come twenty years from now when Vikrama deigns to marry. This house is rotting away, if it doesn't die away by the time he rises to the throne." She gritted her teeth, grinding the dead flower under her palm against the stone floor. Sembiyan Mahadevi watched as the red dye from the flower leaked into the floor, staining the dark stones with the essence of its unjustly extinct life.

She looked up at the idol. Mayadevi was the goddess of Mahishmathi. She had existed before the nation had a name, before it had kings. The legend of her temple was widely renowned, and one that she often liked to contrast against her own life:

_A traveling merchant had crossed what was the nation of Mahishmathi, aeons ago, when he had encountered a young chieftain. The goddess had been found as a young woman of two decades, with jet black hair that flowed from her shoulders to her waist. Her lithe form, draped in a rich green saree, bearing a quiver of arrows on her back and a sword sheathed against her hip, had enchanted him. He had stopped to talk to her when she demanded that he give her payment in return for her time. He had offered her his food, and watched as the young girl dug ravenously into his pack, leaving him with nothing to support himself on for the rest of the journey. She had then turned to leave abruptly, when he had caught her by the hand._

_Driven into anger at his touching her, she had fought him then and there. The man had picked out a sword from the carts of goods he was hauling to sell, and they had dueled. Defeated and on the verge of death, he had prayed for mercy at the tip of her sword. She had taken pity on him and helped him recover from his injuries. He was so taken with this woman who was healer and killer at the same time, that he stayed with her for a few more days, then a few more days, then a few more, until he admitted that he loved her too much to leave. Over the years, he watched as he aged and stooped and grew weaker, and she never aged a day. One morning after a great sickness, he confronted her and forced her to reveal her secret. Mayadevi had then taken on her true form, revealing a resplendent form of light with infinite warmth, that he was cured from the radiation of her light. He had begged her to stay, but she had finished her work there. He was instructed to build the village into a nation of pride, that she would grace from the other world._

In all the temples of Mahishmathi, Mayadevi was depicted in the form of a beaming woman, peaceful and wise, chin up and eyes shining with the knowledge of an eternal life and the warmth of a thousand suns, as she had revealed herself to him that day. Only in the palace's temple, the sculptor of a thousand years ago, had been physically unable to make that form. He had instead watched on as his hands sculpted the form of a young Chieftain, brave and angry, with the pain of hunger and a naked longing for a friend in her in her eyes, half-seated, one leg dangling off her rest on the fallen tree trunk.

Sembiyan Mahadevi supposed it was the truest form of the woman. For within this temple, where only the King and Queen worshipped, it was more useful to show the Gods also as humans. Outside the temple, they were all feared and worshipped, and it was comically easy to think themselves Gods. Inside the temple, this sculpture served to show them for what they also were- mere humans, trying to do the best for Mahishmathi, bound by unjust laws and surrounded by unjust men, but reminding themselves to be brave and do what needed to be done.

She inhaled sharply. She had just found the answer to her dilemma. Her smile broke out into a grin as she stood up hurriedly, and bowing, flung a handful of the flowers into the sanctum sanctorum. She smiled conspiratorially at Mayadevi as though at a friend, and suddenly recalled the words of her father- "Talk to Her when in doubt, She will give you the answers better than your closest _sakhi_ "- she had dismissed the advice as the senile ramblings of a sick man and felt saddened that she could no longer go to him to apologise. Blinking and pursing her lips, she tied up her hair once more and rang the bell. 

"Lock the doors, I am going back to the palace." she instructed and walked back, head held high. She flung open the doors to her chambers, where her husband was almost asleep. Striding forth, she shook him awake. "I have only one child." she began without preamble. 

Uttamadeva sat up, waiting for his wife to expound on her wishes. She stood in front of him, arms resting gracefully at her side, the very picture of self-assured confidence. "I think it is time we have another."

He blinked. "We are getting on, my dear. To raise an infant now would be- unwise" he answered with a frown. He did not understand the whims of many women, and now he was starting to count his wife in that number.

"You are right as ever, my King. So we will not raise an infant. We will raise a boy." She finished triumphantly, as if the idea was crystal clear. He blinked at her, wondering which lad would elect to abandon his parents and join them.

She shook her head affectionately, sitting down beside him. Taking his hands in hers, she smiled gently. "Your cousin's wife is too sick to survive the illness plaguing her. Already widowed, she has motive enough to grasp onto the life force only for her son's sake. We shall adopt him. Give her mercy and peace, give the boy a loving home. Bijjaladeva is barely twenty yet, he would find a companion in our Vikramadeva, and he will live with us. He already pledges allegiance to Mahishmathi, his state survives on our handouts. He will leap at the chance to come to us."

Uttamadeva rubbed at his nape. "But why adopt him now? Even if she passes, he would take up the mantle and rule. He does not need adopting."

Sembiyan Mahadevi smiled, pride in her cleverness beaming through. "All of Mahishmathi's states wish us well. All their rulers are aging, they are our peers. The only worry we have before Vikramadeva takes up the mantle is if Bijjaladeva challenges him to the throne. If he becomes closer to us, we can satisfy him with spacious palaces and bejeweled elephants and distract him while VIkrama becomes King without interruption."

Uttamadeva sighed and rolled over, lost in thought. After a while, he nodded. "Give the instructions for the missive. We will visit them in a few days."

 

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Bijjaladeva trembled where he stood. He could not believe the shame he was being subjected to. Not only were these madpeople from Mahishmathi making ridiculous offers of adoption of a boy- almost a man- here was his mother on her sickbed nodding along gratefully. They had come bearing gifts and medicines, and the wench with the oily smile had applied them on his mother's feet, not caring that she was diseased, not caring that she herself might fall ill- Bijjala saw it exactly for what it was: a calculated, practiced drama.

His mother asked for a moment alone with her son, and he had barely closed the door on the scheming actors when her voice cut across the room to him. "You will go with them and you will call them your parents." Even sick, Ghosha could sound like a queen on her throne. "You will do everything they say, and be a better son to them than their own son."

He tensed up, breathing heavily. "Am I a mere animal to you, to be traded and sold for your whims?" he snarled at her.

Ghosha shook her head. "I am dying, and after me you will rule. You have no experience, we had failed to prepare you for the throne. You will be easily defeated in court and in war. Your father passed too soon and I was too sick to raise you well." She shook her head once more, as though wiping away the regrets. "Now you have a chance. Now you have a chance to be a real King. A real throne, not a playroom chair like the one I sit on.

 A real King to a powerful nation, a man that a crore men will bow to, a man that will be worshipped by every man, woman and child that lives off the mercies of Mahishmathi.

 Do you know, Biju, how long I have yearned to be healthy and have power? Do you know the pain of being trapped in your own body, while scheming men plot to grab the chair you sit on? Do you know the fear of living everyday wondering if today will be the day they poison you and kill your boy, leaving us both dead and usurping the throne before our bodies have cooled?" She sat up, struggling to use her muscles, the strain of it drawing her face into severe pain.

Bijjaladeva rushed to her side, supporting her. She shook him off, wheezing, violently slapping away his hands. He backed off, arms outstretched from one foot away, prepared to catch her if she fell over. She gasped for breath, sitting up against the headboard. Catching her breath, she turned to him and he sat down abruptly on the diwan in the compelling power of her eyes. 

"So listen to me, boy. You will go with them. You will be pleased about it. You will love that Vikramadeva as though he were your own younger brother. He will call you Anna, and you will call Mahishmathi your home. And when the time comes, you will sit on that throne, rule this nation and raise our dynasty again."

Bijjaladeva nodded, overcome with emotion. He threw himself at her feet, seeking her blessings and in gesture seeking her apology for being foolish earlier. He looked up at her from his position at her feet on the bed. "I promise, Amma. I promise to do this- for you, and for Appa, and for the sake of our lineage."

Ghosha nodded, holding his gaze for a long time. She relaxed slowly, and suddenly fell back, exhausted from the mammoth effort of the speech. He held a glass of water while she sipped at it, and she whispered hoarsely for the Mahishmathi rulers to rejoin them.

Uttamadeva and Sembiyan Mahadevi walked in smiling, talking of the glories of the palace and the wonderful servants that Ghosha employed. Bijjaladeva returned the small talk, all the while learning flattery from their speech. Ghosha nodded occasionally, content to let the conversation flow without her input.

They beat around the bush for another few minutes, finally winding down to their request again. Ghosha looked at Bijjaladeva and then nodded for him to respond. All eyes were on him. He took a deep breath, put on a smile and looked at the people whose throne would soon be his. "It would be my blessing from Mayadevi herself." Inwardly, he apologised to his kula-devata for taking the name of the Mahishmathi goddess; but he supposed all would be forgiven when he became King and broke down Mayadevi's statue to make way for his God.

The couple rejoiced, exclaiming delightedly and thanking Ghosha for her incredible generosity over and over again, until Ghosha thought her ears would bleed from the sweetness permeating the room. "It has been a delight to see my husband's cousins again, but I am afraid this sick body needs some rest before it can do more." she laughed apologetically, politely dismissing them. 

As Bijjaladeva followed them out, he drew the doors closed, and watched as his mother smiled approvingly at him for what would be the last time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bijjaladeva is not disabled in this story like he is in the movies.


	10. Chapter 10

The sun had risen and had almost set in the time Vikramadeva debated the consequences of gaining a co-inhabitant of his house. He had met Bijjaladeva several times over the years, and each of those times, he had felt that the other boy was an alien. They had fought and played together for weeks together and all he could recall from those memories was that he had never been truly safe or happy in his presence as he had been even in Balaraman's brief company. And now that lad was going to be a part of his family.

Uttamadeva had dropped the news on him in the morning and then gone to court. His mother had been fully engaged with preparations for the incoming Prince and she had also not had time to talk to him. At sunset he went to his friend.

"Mitra, have you heard the news?"

"Yes my prince. Congratulations." Balaraman gave the standard polite smile to his friend. 

Vikramadeva stopped short and stared at him until Balaraman understood the gravity of the situation.  "Who knows why he agreed to come here. Who knows what is the psyche of a man who would abandon his dying mother and enter the folds of a larger Kingdom. Who knows what he's like!" He ranted at the soldier.

"Precisely my point, prince: who knows what he's like. Maybe you should wait and watch." Balaraman barely paused shining his sword, hands methodically cleaning the gleaming metal.

"You don't understand man. I've already seen him over the years. He is... he is not a good man. Mother knows this well. Why does she do this to me, to us?!"

Balaraman frowned. "You might have possibly grown up with him as a child. The last few years of Rani Ghosha being sick would have impacted him tremendously and he might have reformed. I'm only trying to comfort you with speculations, I have no solid evidence for you my prince." He shrugged and finished apologetically.

Vikramadeva sat down in a near by chair in a huff. "I am tremendously worried. What if- what if he challenges me to the throne?" he whispered.

"Why would he challenge you? The conditions of his arrival would be guaranteed by your mother that you would be the king." Balaraman was confused. "Do you think she might have given away the kingdom to a strange cousin of yours without even telling you about the reservations she has about you? If she has any, that is" he amended.

"I don't know Mitra." Vikramadeva put his head in his hands. "I don't know. What if, what if, what if.... So many things could go wrong; so many things might be happening without my knowledge and I don't have a spy base, I don't have information I am in the dark, it makes me so worried."

Balaraman put a hand on the prince's shoulder. He spoke gently. "Talk to your mother. She does not do things that are bad for the kingdom, or for her family. Talk to her." Dropping his hand he continued, "She has made the best choice for Mahishmathi, trust in it."

Vikramadeva sighed and stood up. He wished he could have the same confidence in his mother that Balaraman had. Lifting his hand in a lazy goodbye, he left the secluded hut and walked along the the gardens, watching the sun go down on his kingdom. He took a deep breath. King or not, the kingdom was his responsibility and privilege. 

 

He briskly walked to his mother's wings of the palace. The guards announced his entry while he waited outside. The relayed announcements from the guards to the waiting women to the armed women guards to the queen and back took a few minutes, during which time he tried not to show how nervous he was. Ushered in, he walked the length of the wing keeping his eyes on the ground.

Stopping at the door of his mother's prayer room, he bowed and looked up. Sembiyan Mahadevi was sitting in the padmasana, breathing steady and eyes closed. Vikramadeva sat outside the door, watching her breathing rise and fall, and feeling a little calmer for it. Eventually she opened her eyes, blinking to get accustomed to the light of the lamps, stretching slowly and pressing her feet with little grimaces as the needles stung in her asleep foot.

She rose up, adjusting her saree, nodding to her son and walking past him into her study rooms. He followed mutely. She would speak first. He would speak when spoken to. She sat down on the divan in the study room, the orange rays of the sunset highlighting her brown complexion, lighting her from the back. The scene was stark, in his eyes. She, of more wisdom and knowledge than him, sitting in light and he in his dark ignorance seeking out the radiance of her knowledge- he suppressed a smile. Dramatic flair was inherited in Mahishmathian blood.

Sembiyan Mahadevi was not in a mood to talk. Not only had she had a long and exhausting day making all the arrangements and speaking incessantly with emissaries, ministers and newsmen, now her son had interrupted her soothing soul-searching session. She did not think about the lack of private time she got. Instead, she tilted her head at the boy. 

He began nervously stammering. "I- You-- I think- " she closed her eyes and leaned her head back, the very picture of bored disappointment. Vikramadeva stopped, drew in a deep breath and started over. "Amma, Appa told me of the proposed adoption of Prince Bijjaladeva into our family. Why did you do this?" 

Sembiyan Mahadevi had been preparing for this question ever since she had crystallized the idea. It gave her a small thrill of satisfaction to see her son behaving as she had predicted. He was almost a king, yet his suddenly perceived insecurity in his position in the family, in the court and in the kingdom had disturbed him to the extent of tears.

She leaned forward, placing both hands in her lap. He waited impatiently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"As a mother, I can adopt who I wish to. What are you scared of?" The pure raw energy of her gaze startled Vikramadeva into candor. 

"Will he be king?" he asked, looking at her with wide eyes. He could not see her face fully, as the light was behind her. He felt trapped under her clear stare.

"As the rulers, your Father and I will decide who will succeed us. What concern is it of yours?" She asked.

"I- I've been trained, I learnt, I studied" his voice was climbing higher, notes of panic entering into his tone. "Why would he- Am I not good enough to be King?" he finished in alarm.

"Do you think you are?" she retorted. She was getting annoyed at the amount of coddling that this almost-man was demanding from her. She knew that her annoyance would be interpreted as rebuke in his eyes, but she would comfort him later, when she was less tired. 

"I am! I'm good enough." Vikramadeva, all of nineteen years old, looked and felt for all purposes as though he were four.

"Then you need not worry." She almost raised a hand to dismiss him. The books gifted by the Kuntalan ambassadors in the shelves above his head seemed very inviting, and his whining seemed much less so. Sensing his impending dismissal, Vikramadeva surged forth. 

"Amma, I wish to be King." He stated. Or was it requested? He found he did not care. He wanted to do the duty he had been trained to do, the duty he had been born to do.

Sembiyan Mahadevi turned to stare deeply, intensely at him. The strength of her unblinking gaze left him feeling as though he was inside a burning fire, a heat that clawed away at his masks and lies, burning away all his falsehoods and leaving him feeling psychologically naked to her mind's scathing reviews.

That was the thing about his mother. She was fierce in everything, in motherhood, in kingship, in love and generosity; but she was equally fierce in dealing with her enemies. Those who double-crossed her rarely lived to tell the tale. They were usually executed in public, in the most excruciating of ways. These spectacles were mandatory for the entire palace staff, and spies undercover also were to attend, to see the fate of what happened to enemies of Mahishmathi. Her barbarian ways of enmity went unchallenged, for her love and mercy to her subjects were equally tremendous. 

Vikramadeva stood, not daring to move while his mother, nay the Rani, assessed him truly and deeply. His nineteen year old self was scared of her judgement, but he wanted the throne in a way he had not wanted anything else in his life. As she reduced the intensity of her gaze, a very miniscule change in exression that washed over him like a wave of soothing water after the blazing heat, Sembiyan Mahadevi smirked.

"To want is not to get, always. Grace in defeat marks good character." she advised him.

Vikramadeva was crestfallen. His anger was smoldering, but his dejection at his inadequacy swallowed him up in its resounding shame. He dropped his eyes to the floor, wondering where he was lacking.

"Fortunately for you," she continued, "that is a lesson learnt in other times, past and to come, but not in this."

He blinked and looked up, not daring to breathe, not daring to hope. His eyes bulged out of their sockets as he held his breath.

"Vikramadeva Baahubali, the future king of Mahishmathi." The soft words alone, spoken like a blessing, sent him soaring. He grinned giddy with excitement, rushing forward to her and stopping himself, for she was still looking at him as Queen, not as mother.

Vikramadeva gulped and asked, "Then why adopt -" he winced, seeing her sigh at his apparent stupidity.

Sembiyan Mahadevi leaned on the armrest, judging him severely. "You ask the same question as your father. Think, boy." she rebuked sharply.

He got the feeling he was being tested. He rested his eyes on the windowsill, in the space between the bars where light dappled on the outside, darkness on the inside. He began reticently.

"Mahishmathi has a prince. The prince is young, able and trained. The rulers are in their prime, famed and competent. The state has no threats of invasion. The queen adopts another son, sidelining the prince. The adopted son becomes ruler. The sidelined prince turns resentful- no, that tale does not unfold here."

He wiped away an invisible line of text with his hand. "The adopted son is welcomed, but not appointed king. The blood-born son is made king. The adopted boy is sidelined. He would serve as faithful servant of the Crown but he has been welcomed already as King. So he would be insulted. He challenges the heir. To what?"

Vikramadeva's forehead creased in thought. He was no longer self-conscious, or nervous. He was doing what he did best- solve a problem. Sembiyan Mahadevi leaned back, enjoying the show. He continued, "He challenges the heir to an open fight? Man-to-man? No. That serves no purpose, except show the muscly man over the lighter one. He challenges him to war. Impossible. That would require rival factions. He challenges him to... a debate? Useless. Princes are scholarly, but they are not scholars."

He blinked in sudden revelation, whipping around to face his mother. "He does not challenge him at all, does he?" He asked slowly. Sembiyan Mahadevi smiled, an egotistical curve of the lips that flashed like lightning. She waited for him to continue.

Vikramadeva did. "So he vows revenge. And this man is not an honourable man. He is not a fair man seeking justice. He is a vengeful sniper seeking revenge on the thief who stole his fame and fortune." He drew a shaky breath. "He will try to kill me." Vikramadeva's heart hammered in his chest. As a prince, the threat of death always loomed over him, but never so much as now.

He knew with certainty that the murder bid would be thwarted. His mother confirmed that with a look. He frowned, scrunching his nose. "Then why bring him here at all?"

She rolled her eyes. "Think."

So he thought. "If he isn't welcomed into Mahishmathi, he will come anyway. He will come in the dead of night, or with the rising sun and backed by his army and all states under Mahishmathi that resent our rule. He will come invading, come pillaging. He will seek to kill me anyway, and with me you and Appa also. He will leave ruin in his wake, and bite and set fire even with his dying breath. So it is better he is welcomed alone, stolen away from his plans before he recruits allies for it."

Sembiyan Mahadevi's approving look would have made him elated in any other time, but all he felt was the warmth of it bolstering his courage in this master scheme. He searched her eyes for any mercy and found none. 

"You will lure him in and slaughter him." Vikramadeva felt his spine chill.

"Rajatantram requires certain sacrifices. And if we make the sacrifices from our opponent's army, more praise to our strategy." Sembiyan Mahadevi smiled sadly at him.

"You would kill for me?" he asked, stuttering.

"No. I would kill for the future of our dynasty. Vikrama you shall remember only one thing: Jai Mahishmathi."

 


	11. Chapter 11

Sivagami grew up wide-eyed with wonder at everything around her. It was easy to marvel, Mahishmathi had enough wonders to captivate, charm and allure. She spent her days working the household, and her evenings straying through the vibrant markets and skipping stones on the lakes. She marveled at the jute silks that the merchants' wives wore, the low-slung skirts the dancers of the palace wore, the jewelry- oh the jewelry. She couldn't help memorising every twist, every thread, every shade of golden light the beads deflected, the chime of bells against their ankles, the clink of their bangles as they reached over to pick fruits, the sway of their jimikkis with every laugh. She grew up happy, contented and wondrous.

Every week, the soldiers could go home for one day. Balaraman would go to the small house he kept, do the bare minimum by way of maintenance, pay the milkman's boy who cared for Kamadhenu during the week, lead her around the fields, and finish it all by mid-day so he could run to Mandhogan's house and meet his siblings. They looked forward to his visits almost as much as he did, but young Sivagami never understood why she couldn't stay with him in the soldier's quarters. 

"That's not a good place for a child!" he would laugh. She would whine in her utmost highest pitch, starting low and building up with gusto to the highest note she could reach. One could forgive Balaraman for smiling at that, men have been bowled over by adorable infants for less. 

Each week he saw her he marveled over how much she had grown, how fast she was learning the world around her, and her impressive vocabulary and enchanting expressions. He would sell the world if she asked it of him. He would move earth and heaven to stop her tears. He would do everything within his powers that was morally right to him to protect her.

Soon there was an invasion in Anupa for which they requested urgent assistance. Vikramadeva led the assault, with his battalion of six hundred men, riding like death and bringing swift endings to the invaders. Balaraman made sure to wash himself thoroughly before he went to Sivagami. As he scrubbed away under his fingernails, he realised he would kill for her too. This realisation did not disturb him. He chuckled proudly and continued scrubbing. The child was waiting.

 

 

When Bijjaladeva came to Mahishmathi, the nation turned out to see the new prince. This was a very uncommon practice, but they all sympathised with the soon-to-be-orphaned prince, and Bijjaladeva who came expecting curiosity faced pity, leaving him seething and embarrassed upon the elephant. Balaraman, just another face among the long line of guards along the path, was to control the thronging crowds. Sivagami clung to his leg, arms tight around his calves, hidden under the crowd. Just when the elephant on which he was seated passed them, she clambered up onto his shoulders quick as lightning, peered at the prince, and dropped down. In the melee, no one minded, and if the soldier standing next to Balaraman noticed, he had the good sense to give the man the single happiness he had.

Later that week, over a game of chess -where she was terribly losing- she asked, "Why do we have a new prince?"

Balaraman looked from Mandhogan to her to the parents. They were smirking as though welcoming him to the club. He sighed, not really minding it, rather celebrating the shared joys of raising a child together. "See, we have a prince. Now we're getting another."

She frowned. "Are you thick? I asked why. I know we have one already."

He burst out laughing. No one else in the kingdom could afford to address him that way and walk away unharmed. "Well, Sivagami, our King and Queen wanted another son."

"Why? Isn't Prince Vikramadeva good enough for a son?" she demanded to know.

Balaraman thought fondly of his friend and shook his head. "He's good enough. But it's good to have more children. Look at us- Mandhogan Anna, me and you. We have fun when it's three of us. Don't you think Vikramadeva would be lonely all by himself?" He stroked her hair, tucking a curl behind her ear. "And don't ask that question in that tone again to anyone." He rebuked in a serious voice. Sivagami knew to take the serious voice seriously. Otherwise it landed her in trouble, like the time she had brought home rotten mangoes after not being careful like she had been told, or the time she had let the goats graze too far and missed one out in the field. She nodded earnestly at her big brother.

 

 

\-------------

While formalising the adoption was laborious, it only took about sixteen months. In comparison, getting the boy out of his home and into theirs, with the appropriate moves and not stepping on any toes, took about fifteen months. Thus Mahishmathi had almost two years to wonder about the future prince. 

Vikramadeva bowed to Bijjaladeva. "Welcome." He kept his tone scared and submissive, letting the other man understand he was ceding his position. At least the nervousness would last for a convincing time.

Bijjaladeva was the very image of courtesy and decorum. He politely embraced Vikramadeva, bowed to the elders in the councils, listened attentively if a little eagerly, and smiled at all the appropriate times. 

Uttamadeva and Sembiyan Mahadevi looked upon their little family and smiled in apparent happiness.

 

The game had begun.

 


	12. Chapter 12

The game had to be played very carefully. Bijjaladeva would have to have no suspicions at all that he was to be king next. They fed him the usual lines- 'may the better man' and all that, and he seemed greedy enough to have bought it. At any rate, he was playing his side perfectly. Per Mahishmathian law, an unmarried prince could not be crowned. He would have to be at least affianced. All they needed to do was ensure Vikrama was to get married, before Bijjaladeva. Thankfully, Sembiyan Mahadevi could see that Bijjaladeva did not seem hurried to acquire a spouse and family. 

It also gave her time that Ghosha was still alive. He had requested that his adoption not be finalised until Ghosha passed away. It was a decorous request, one that was respectful and reasonable. So they had inducted him into the family as he was, a cousin of Vikrama's. 

They had made every effort to make him feel welcome. He had been given his own private suite that was as big as their palace back home, his wardrobe tailored and fitted with enough clothes that he would not need to repeat a shirt for two years, and a snug allowance that he could buy a small village in Mahishmathi. He was free to roam the city, and free to talk to whom he wished, and do what he liked. Bijjaladeva spent a lot of time in court, watching and learning the ways of Mahishmathi, and in the evenings he sat in the library devouring tomes upon tomes of text. 

It rankled Sembiyan Mahadevi's heart that he was polite but not effusive in his affection to them. She began to hold daily family meetings, in the gardens and on the river, on the palace's balconies and terraces, with a small assembly of ministers, where the four of them discussed happenings and debated moral issues. He was slowly opening up, responding when it was his turn in a conversation, although he still kept his opinions to himself. His contributions were all politically neutral, and where possible he praised Mahishmathi before suggesting they do as he would have done back home.

 

\---------------------

"Vikrama!" she greeted the lad. "Come in, come in."

He strode in, wondering what charm Bijjaladeva had that his mother was constantly in good spirits after his arrival. He did feel rather surprised. He bowed to her, noting the assemblage of ministers around her in the patio.

"So, you are to turn twenty soon! We must celebrate this. You have a brother too now, you must celebrate his arrival along with your birthday. Now your father and I have been thinking, and how does a four day party sound- we will have the usual elephant parades, the chariot races, the boat races, the hill climbing, and of course the dancers from all across the country, and I wanted to ask if you were particularly fond of the je-"

He stopped her in alarm. "Amma! I don't want a four day party! And especially no elephant parades!" He was flabbergasted. 

Sembiyan Mahadevi looked him up and down, and then looked to the entourage around him and then back at him. "What do you mean you don't want it?"

"I'd sooner run away!" His voice was climbing in alarm. The last thing Vikramadeva wanted to do was stand in the middle of a boring hall and smile and nod at every grovelling quasi-royal that wanted his favour. 

Uttamadeva cleared his throat. "Well we can't have the prince running away on his birthday, can we? What would the spies say!" His irreverent joke broke the taut tension in the room. "But Vikrama, you must celebrate your birthday. A boy becomes a man, and the world must celebrate. It is not negotiable."

Vikramadeva was quickly despairing. He looked out past his waiting parents, past the servants fanning them, past the gardeners to where the city opened up. "Can I -" He paused, waiting to marshall his thoughts. This had to be phrased well, or they would plant him in the viewing box as horses marched past. He sighed, putting his chin in his hands. Nodding, he started, "That's precisely it, though, sir. I am becoming a man, I am not yet one. I have led battalions, I have read books, I have learnt skills, but I have not seen the world in which I must apply them. Beyond battle, I have not ventured out of Mahishmathi. If I am to truly become a man, I must travel, must I not?" He raced through anything he had read which would support that statement. Finding none, he continued, "After all, we heard news of Akbar traveling incognito to learn his kingdom. I would like to travel like that, learn the world as a mere man, not as a King."

Sembiyan Mahadevi was nodding ardently. "For how will he rule people he knows not?" Vikramadeva threw a grateful glance her way. She turned to Uttamadeva, speaking in low tones, nodding to the boy and gesturing outward to the nation. They seemed to come to a conclusion. "You shall do this. But you are not safe alone, you must take an entourage with you."

"Which is the easiest way to announce my status." He rejoined drily.

"But the risk is too high otherwise. I would send Bijjaladeva with you." ordered Uttamadeva.

Both Sembiyan Mahadevi and Vikramadeva panicked at that. Vikrama said, "Isn't it wiser to keep Bijjala-anna here so that he may be safer? I also believe he would feel more free in exploring the palace and the city if I were not trailing him everywhere." He shot an apologetic glance at where Bijjaladeva stood by the side. The prince was a very quiet man, observing and listening to everything. He rarely spoke or offered his opinion.

Uttamadeva turned to him. "Oh I had not thought of that. Surely you must be feeling the restriction of having Vikrama running around here." Bijjaladeva shook his head and smilingly disagreed as if to say it was no problem.

Sembiyan Mahadevi braided the end of her hair's plait absently. "Then if you will have no entourage, and no brother to keep you safe- I would rather you stayed here and participated in the birthday celebrations, Vikrama." her tone was worried.

Vikramadeva thought quickly. "I will take a soldier of my choice. Two friends roaming the country will not be suspected of anything. He is trained and armed to keep me safe, and I will still learn what I must." The assembly nodded, a satisfactory solution to the problem at hand. He informed the closest guard to fetch Balaraman. In a minute, he was running to them, bowing deeply and trying unsuccessfully to conceal that he was panting. 

Vikramadeva explained the plan to him, and it was agreed they would leave Mahishmathi for two months.

 

\---------------------

 

As a part of their travels, Balaraman and Vikramadeva had taken shelter at a resthouse, and heard the other travelers speaking of the witty and charming princess of Anupa, and had changed their travel route from the dusty plains that lay farther north to turn left to Anupa and meet this girl. Common sense had prevailed in Balaraman who talked Vikramadeva down from disguising himself, and approach them as a mere visitor. 

"But I'm going there only for her! What if she hears of a prince come to visit and orders her people to tell me she's gone away?" He demanded.

Balaraman stared aghast at him. "Why would she do that?"

"What if she does it?" the lad demanded. Balaraman sighed and ran a weary through his thick curls. At this rate, Vikrama would give him grey hairs before he touched twenty two.

"I promise, she won't. Would you please not do anything embarrassing?" He pleaded.

A week after he had come to know Mekhala, Vikramadeva wrote poems about her and made Balaraman listen to them.

 

\---------------------

 

If you asked Balaraman what was the best thing about Manimekhalai, he would probably say it was patience. It took a lot of patience to deal with a man so obviously in love with her, who wrote her poetry, who offered himself up, who offered his kingdom up, and once when she forgot her slippers when they were out for a walk, offered up Balaraman's slippers to wear.

She had grinned cheekily and nodded. Balaraman walked in the baking sun, holding an umbrella out for the lovebirds, cursing the travelers at the inn who had spoken of this kingdom and its pretty princess.

But even he could see that she was a good match for Vikramadeva. Being a year older than him, and more widely read and traveled, she was a more experienced princess, well suited for running a kingdom, for building a family and an armory, and her clever mind was truly an asset.

Vikramadeva saw all that, and saw her beautiful eyes, and decided he wanted to bask in her eyes for eternity. He stayed back in Anupa while Balaraman took the speediest horse Anupa's stables had reared, and rushed to Mahishmathi to get their assent. It was a very tense week for Vikrama, who knew that his mother had promised to marry him to the girl of his choice, but still yearned for her approval. After all, a princess was not only an addition to the family, she would also be a part of the country's future. 

Balaraman raced back to Anupa, disrobing his green shirt and waving it above his head when he could first see the castle in his sights. 

 

 

"Balarama, for this alone, I will make you General!" yelled Vikramadeva, drunk out of his mind. The soldier smiled and wrapped a blanket around the prince. "You think I joke. You wound me, Mitra!" wailed the prince.

"Oh, no, I'm certain of it." smirked Balaraman. "I'll be fine, don't you worry."

"Fine? Oh, fine?" Vikramadeva stared obsessively at an ant that was joining its line. He looked up at the man seated beside him. "Hey, do you know I'm engaged? There's this incredible girl. Her name is Mekhala." He smiled sappily at his friend.

Balaraman sighed and picked up the bottle himself. It was going to be a long night.

 

\---------------------

 

It was somehow fitting that Sembiyan Mahadevi's daughter-in-law would be named Manimekhalai. It was a running joke in the kingdom that if Bijjala married a Kuntala princess, the nation would fit in three epic references, with Kuntalakesi. 

Sembiyan Mahadevi was crippled every minute with the fear that she lived in a mirrored Silappadhigaram; her husband Kovalan, Kamala Madhavi and she the Kannagi. Everything was reversed in this twisted, inside-out, bottom-up world of hers. This feeling sneaked up on her and took root in her mind, worrying away at her peace. 

One day she bumped into Kamala as she went to the river, and both women flushed deep, with anger and shame and jealousy, saying nothing and passing each other by. Sembiyan Mahadevi decided that living in this perenially worried state would not give her peace, and called Kamala to a morning meeting the next day. 

The two women sat on the edge of their seats, backs ramrod straight. Sembiyan Mahadevi treated Kamala as she would another wife of her husband. For all intents and purposes, that's what she was. If Kamala so wished, she could ask to be inducted into the Royal Family. The only reason she hadn't was because she knew the King did not love her back, and her pride was too enormous to be married and called a Queen, whose husband and King belonged to another.

"Kamala", began Sembiyan Mahadevi tentatively.

"Your Highness", Kamala bowed lightly, eyes trained on her eyes.

"Now, you know that I know. You also know that I know that he doesn't know. But I would like to ask- do you know now?"

Kamala couldn't stop a small smile that crept up on her face. "Such secrecy, Your Highess! But to answer- yes, I do know now."

Sembiyan Mahadevi sighed in relief. It was imperative that Kamala know where her children were. It was one thing to know the future threats to the Crown, it was yet another to wonder who they were. "I would like to know" she asked lowly.

Kamala stared at the ground, wishing for it to swallow her whole. "May I request that I swear they do not know of me, or Him, and not reveal their identities?" she tried in a last ditch attempt. The Queen's answering stare crushed her last hope.

"He serves in the palace. A guardsman. Balaraman. She is a child yet, about five, growing up with his foster parents. They do not know. I request that you spare them." she finished uselessly.

Sembiyan Mahadevi kept her face stoically neutral. It was custom to cull half-children of the King. She could not promise their safety to Kamala.

The other woman had started crying. This irked Sembiyan Mahadevi. Why did she insist on crying for the lives of children she hadn't met, who had never called her Mother, who had not grown up in her arms? This was needlessly dramatic. 

Kamala looked up at her, eyes puffed and cheeks red. "At least take my life in exchange for theirs. Spare them, Rani, I beg you!" she leaned forward as much as her chair would allow, and in that minute Sembiyan Mahadevi wondered what about this pathetic woman had ever appealed to her husband. She thought of Vikrama, and wondered what it would be like were their roles reversed. Dredging up some empathy from where Raja-tantram had quelled it decades ago, she patted her shoulder kindly.

"No one will be killed, Kamala. But I do have a request to make." She pursed her lips while Kamala dabbed at her face with her saree. "Would you promise me never to tell them?"

Kamala nodded fervently. She was selfish enough in her pride not to marry when love was not reciprocated, and that pride would not let her be hurt as she watched a man and a girl seek love and be rejected by a King with two sons already in line for the throne. She knew first-hand what shame Mahishmathi would inflict on those without status, and she was not prepared for her children, bastards though they were, to be humiliated so.

"I need you to swear on Mayadevi" whispered Sembiyan Mahadevi forcefully.

They went to the queen's prayer room and kneeling in front of the flame, Kamala swore an oath to keep her secret within herself.

 

\---------------------

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vikramadeva writing poetry is a headcanon from avani's wonderful imagination. Check out her entire list of character headcanons!


	13. Chapter 13

Manimekhalai preferred going by Mekhala. Her full name had always been uttered in an exasperated tone by her parents, her teachers, her friends after she had cracked a ridiculously lame joke or an egg over their heads. She was playful, always up for a challenge and had a zest for life that had been nurtured and encouraged in Anupa. Now Sembiyan Mahadevi was trying to tell her that stuffy old Mahishmathi would provide the same environment. Only her need for her to-be-mother-in-law's approval stopped her from openly scoffing.

"I'm sure we can accomodate your naval interests as well." smiled the Queen. Mekhala nodded thankfully, chuckling inwardly at her fiance's navel interests. She had been listening for over an hour to the various ways in which Mahishmathi would welcome her, help her grow. Now would come the conditions, their expectations from her. As she had thought, Sembiyan Mahadevi began.

"You are a Princess of Anupa, you expected to become Queen there?" she gently led.

Mekhala shook her head no. "I was too boisterous by far. They'd never have let me be Queen." She grinned impishly. Uttamadeva guffawed as Sembiyan also allowed herself a small smile.  "But I think, if my brother had also declined, I would have become the Queen then."

Bijjaladeva asked from where he was sitting beside Uttama Deva. "And would you have been a good queen?" His smile was gentle and warm, a playful interaction with an old friend.

"Biju, I would have been the best queen and you know it." She smiled at him. Vikramadeva had been scared that her family might have made her nervous. Luckily for him, nothing could shake her confidence. Mekhala spoke to them as though she had known them all for decades (in Bijjaladeva's case that was true, as they had been neighbouring kingdoms).

She turned back to his mother. "But to answer your unasked question- I do not expect to be queen of Mahishmathi. If the mantle falls on me, I will do my duty with due regard, with the best interests of Mahishmathi in mind, even over those of Anupa, and I will not fail in what I set my heart to do." Her earnestness was delivered with all the pointedness that the question deserved. 

Sembiyan Mahadevi found herself liking this fireball of a girl. She did not mince words, she did not mind playing the fool, but she also ensured that no one would take her for a ride. The rest of the day went by in hours of discussion, of what it meant to be a queen, what sacrifices would she be prepared to make, their choice of location in cities, how often would they visit their in-laws, and other such personal and political matters.

 

 

Mekhala had not yet admitted it to her fiance but she loved Mahishmathi. The city was alive with excitement, the people kept themselves busy, there was enough of Nature and enough of manmade marvels that beautified the place, and to top it all off, she already had a friend in Biju. She loved Mahishmathi so much she chose to live in their palace right after she got engaged to Vikrama. It caused the biggest bomb to drop in Anupa's court. They sent a contingent of distant relatives, stern -faced middle-aged aunts and uncles to fetch her. Mekhala received them warmly and sent them packing after lunch. Sembiyan Mahadevi had had to rush back into the palace to stop laughing.

It was an uproar for a week to handle the newly engaged Vikramadeva and Mekhala. For one thing, she insisted that everybody from his mother to his maid call her by name without using titles, and she dressed in silver, discarding the crates of gold that lay at her feet. Mekhala had boundless enthusiasm, a propensity for pranking, and a gift for charming every offended official. The palace had never been so lively, Vikramadeva never so happy, and Sembiyan Mahadevi never so entertained.

Uttamadeva worried incessantly. He frowned everytime a minister sat down onto a chair whose cushions had been replaced with water bags, he clucked his tongue every time he walked into the armoury to see all their swords painted green. Sembiyan Mahadevi shared a look of exasperation with Mekhala and nodded discreetly, she would have to talk to him. 

 

At nightfall, she peeped into the empty bedchamber and followed the trail of guards to the courtyard. Uttamadeva was pacing anxiously, hands clasped behind his back. She moved to join him, but stopped under the arch, hidden in the shadows, watching him walk in the moonlight. She leaned on the archway and admired the view. Sembiyan Mahadevi had no qualms admitting that she had chosen him for his looks.

Watching his lithe, muscular form lit up by the moonlight, she traced the long aquiline nose under the crown of greying hair, the long eyelashes with the thick neat eyebrows, his face a delight in angles. No sculptor had yet been able to capture his ethereal expressions, no painter his beauty. She drew her eyes down from his face to the supple neck, the strong muscles of his shoulders, the lean curve of his spine against the rock solidness of his chest. She smiled, remembering the first time she had laid eyes on him.

_His brothers-in-arms had first come crashing into her swayamvaram, knocking a vase arrangement over and stepping on kolams. Seeing that they were not too late, they sent half the men back to tell Uttamadeva to come slowly, and the remaining apologised. It seemed they had been on the way when they had heard screams from the forest and Uttamadeva had rushed in to save the family captured by the bandits. Just as they were finishing the details of how he had heroically saved them and finished the dacoits, he had rolled up in his chariot, and before him the frightened family disembarked. He had guided them to the guards, instructing that they be comforted with warm food and a place to rest. Sembiyan had looked from him to her father, as the hall of assembled royals stared open mouthed at this dashing prince who already ordered Mahishmathi guards about. His regal demeanor was so authoritative that the guards found themselves complying without question, and the hall parted ways for this prince to walk straight upto her. She looked at him, blood splattered lightly on his sleeve, eyes shining with excitement, hair tousled heroically, and full lips stretched back in a winning smile. Sembiyan Mahadevi blushed involuntarily, looking away._

_"Will the princess consider me as a suitor?" He had asked, head bowed and searching into her eyes._

_Sembiyan Mahadevi nodded coyly. "You may join the assembly."  She hoped her voice did not give away her excitement at this winsome man._

_The rest of the assembled princes knew then and there that they stood no chance. Some took it sportingly, using the chance to try out Mahishmathi's new blades and eat the cooks' masterpieces; some did not, leaving immediately with downcast face._   _By the end of the day, the swayamvaram had dwindled down to the few princes who were playing inside the bullpen, leaving no competition for Uttamadeva. Sembiyan Mahadevi spoke to him for hours, instructing him on her duty, her plans and ensuring that he was content to play second fiddle. He had no qualms about it, for he wanted a life of luxury and love, and both were in plentiful supply in Mahishmathi._

_They had had a week before they were engaged, and a month before they were married. She thanked her palace staff over and over again for their quick work, but they brushed it aside. She was the darling of their kingdom, and they were going to work like a storm of nature if that was what was required of them. Their wedding was a grand affair, Sembiyan Mahadevi receiving the guests while Uttamadeva's smiles lit up the hall._

 

Uttamadeva stood by the rose bushes, a picture of luxurious aristocracy even in the peak of his mental troubles. He turned in her direction and smiled, as if he had known every minute of her presence even while she tried to hide.

 

_The peak of her matrimonial success, in her opinion, was not when she was married, or when they had Vikrama. It was the years that came later, the many troubles, the suspicions, the threats inside and out, the vulnerability of love- and through it all Uttamadeva stood by her side, a pillar of strength and support, an unconditional assent to all her thoughts, another voice of reason that, while not as intelligent as her, still tried to give a perspective. That companionship was sufficient support for her. She no longer saw the beauty in his cheekbones as mere beauty, his body was a space of security for her. At the end of the day they could each sit by each other in utter silence and feel better for it._

 

He raised his chin and smiled in question. "Why do you stand away", she heard the question as clearly as though he had spoken it. Shaking her head, Sembiyan Mahadevi jogged to him. 

"Thinking about Mekhala?" she sought his hands in hers.

"Manimekhalai is certainly... unusual." 

"Fiesty. _"_

"Yes, and unpredictable. Beautiful, certainly, and she has our son's heart. I hope she takes good care of it."

"Sounds familiar, like a man I met decades ago." She pursed her lips together, looking away to hide her smile.

He sighed and shrugged. "What can I say, I loved you then, and love made me do stupid things. Not that I'm any wiser now." He rubbed his forehead against hers.

Sembiyan Mahadevi leaned into the touch. "I hope you never become so wise then." She raised their hands to her chest and held it against her heartbeat. "Trust in love. Trust it. Trust _me_ when I say she will be a good queen." Uttamadeva nodded. He knew that, above all else, he trusted in his wife more than he trusted even himself.

They walked back to their rooms hand in hand, as utterly in love as they had been when they were newly married. 

 

 


	14. Of weddings and missed chances

They were in love. They were cloyingly, blindly, _disgustingly_ in love. It was unbearable. Bijjaladeva paced the length of his room. Mekhala was his friend, his almost-sister, his playtime warmate, his strategist, his foil... his, his, _his_. He knew that his mother had considered marrying them, but it was very apparent this was not their match. They were friends, and they could be even cousins, but it would never be a marriage between them. He gave her his whole hearted wishes on her upcoming wedding, he was truly happy for her happiness- he merely resented that it was to that overgrown teenager Vikramadeva.

Sembiyan Mahadevi had called for a family dinner on the rooftop. He made his way up, forsaking his formal clothes and jewelry for the simple plain cotton dhoti and a passably clean towel. As he climbed the stairs, Mekhala came crashing into him from behind. He shouted out, grasping onto the frames for stability, but on seeing her excited face all annoyance that had risen instantly vanished. "Ammadi, slowly", he suggested in his softest voice. It was a tone no one would hear, his real gentleness and affection. "Move, old man, can't you see I'm running?" she squealed and picked up her skirts again and rushed to the terraces. With an honest smile, Biju picked up his pace and followed.

They raced, spinning around the landings and pushing each other out of the way in their oldest game. He had never lost yet, she had never cried yet. He loved that frankness in his 'Kalai. She did not play beneath her power, but she would face defeat with a straight face and congratulate the winner. He wished there were more girls like her in his world. It was turning out to be yet another replay as he pulled ahead and wondered what pithy line he would declare from the finish line, when he tripped and as he came crashing down, saw the strong feet with silver anklets running ahead of him. "Catch up, you senile man!" she shouted from the next landing. He sat up, brushing away the dust and shaking his shoulders, wondering how he had tripped. 

Vikramadeva peeked out from behind a pillar on the landing, grinning nervously and winking.

Bijjaladeva felt jealousy and rage building up in his heart. It was _their_   game, _their_  fight, _their_ moments. How dare this dimwit trick his way into it? He did not mind losing, he felt more enraged that an outsider had wormed his way into his only real friendship and now had the audacity to wink at him... Bijjaladeva stood up with fury clouding his vision, only knowing that his fist was rising to meet this trickster's body-

 _prince, lineage, disown, Matha Ghosha, danger, Sembiyan_ \- a whirlwind of thoughts ran through his head as he desperately tried to think if he had to stop his hand-

It was with total confusion that he found his fist closing on Vikramadeva's back, and he gaped in confusion as he tried to make sense of his position. Vikramadeva hugged him even tighter, laughing in his ear.

"...knew this would be the way! After all, brothers do play and fight every now and then, don't they, Anna?" Vikramadeva pulled back, holding his elder brother at an arm's length. Bijjaladeva looked at the full-bodied grin in his enemy's eyes, and arranged his face hastily into a smirk.

"Brothers also play-fight, don't you know?" He crushed the boy into a tight hold and punched his biceps and laughed, dragging him up the stairs.

 

 

Sembiyan Mahadevi reached for her husband's hand and smiled at him, nodding her head to the melee of youngsters on the rooftop. Squeals of laughter and flying ends of clothes lit up beautifully in the moonlight. "Our very own happy little family!" she exclaimed at him. 

"All of us here, laughing and eating happily- how so very nice this is!" He answered. 

"All of us, yes!" She rejoiced, eyes glancing at Balaraman standing on the north corner, one of the eight guards that stood watch on them. She glanced back at her husband who was gazing adoringly at her. 

"What is it, darling Queen? You seemed distracted for a minute there."

She smiled sadly. "I was once like this, young and carefree, running about with my girl friends... It's nice to look on these children now and remember those days." She nestled her head in his shoulders, sighing. Sembiyan Mahadevi knew how to conceal a thought with another truth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've put some heart and effort into this, so leave me a comment? :) If you want to throw some ideas in, do tell!


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